“Indeed,” was the rejoinder; “I noticed you always wore a glove--how did the accident happen, pray?” “I hit--that is--I struck my hand against something very hard,” stammered Harry, actually colouring like a girl, as he caught Hazlehurst’s suppressed chuckle, and observed Alice’s bright eyes fixed upon him inquisitively. “Kate, if nobody else will drive you, I suppose I must take compassion on you myself,” remarked Arthur, _sotto voce_, to his cousin. “Ah! but here comes somebody who intends to relieve you of the trouble,” was the reply, in the same low tone; “do not make any objection,” she continued, quickly, “you will only annoy my uncle to no purpose; he would not have even a feather of the Crane’s tail ruffled on any account.” As she spoke, she glanced meaningly towards Horace D’Almayne, at that moment engaged in drawing on a pair of kid gloves too small even for his delicate hands. Coming forward, he languidly, and in an absent manner, volunteered to drive Miss Marsden--an offer which that young lady quietly accepted, either not perceiving, or disregarding, the look of annoyance with which her cousin turned and left the spot. “Oh, you are going to ride, Mr. Coverdale; here comes Sir Lancelot, looking like a picture,” exclaimed Tom Hazlehurst, a fine, handsome lad, _anno ætatis_ fourteen, an Etonian, and (need we add?) a pickle--“Oh! do let me go with you; Alice will lend me her pony--won’t you, Alice? I’ll take such care of it, and you don’t want it yourself, you know--ask her to lend it to me, Mr. Coverdale, do please.” If Harry had a weakness, it was that he could never say no, when his good nature was appealed to in any matter in which another’s pleasure was involved. Tom, moreover, had conceived for him one of those violent friendships which boys feel towards men a few years older than themselves who realise their _beau ideal_ of perfection; and Harry, pleased with his undisguised admiration, responded to it by indulging the young scapegrace in all his vagaries. “I’m afraid my voice is not so potential as you imagine, Tom,” was his reply; “but if my assurance that I will use my best endeavours to keep you and the pony in good order, will have any weight with Miss Hazlehurst, I am perfectly willing to give it.” “If papa has no objection, Tom, you have my consent,” replied Alice, blushing and smiling, while, at the bottom of her heart she wished both Mr. Crane and Harry safely located at Coventry, Jericho, or any other refuge for bores, that might be suitable for putting those who are in the way out of the way; in which case she would herself have enjoyed a canter with Master Tom.